


All we do is hide away

by AnneCumberbatch



Series: I saw London without you [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Delusions, Depressed John Watson, Explicit Language, Fainting, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt John Watson, Implied Attempted Suicide, Isolation, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson's Blog, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mycroft Being Mycroft, POV First Person, Parental Mrs. Hudson, Pining John Watson, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Reunion, Suicidal Ideation, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCumberbatch/pseuds/AnneCumberbatch
Summary: It's been 35 days since Sherlock threw himself off of Bart's hospital in front of John's eyes. 35 days since John threw himself onto the pavement at Sherlock's side, his knees soaking up the blood from his best friend. 35 days since John's world shuttered closed and dried up. 35 days.~~Ella says that I have to voice my feelings.
Relationships: Mrs. Hudson & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: I saw London without you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689616
Comments: 434
Kudos: 214
Collections: Sherlock Author Showcase 2020





	1. Day 35

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мы только и делаем, что прячемся](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262307) by [Everything_Is_Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everything_Is_Blue/pseuds/Everything_Is_Blue)



> Title of this fic based on the song "All We Do" by Oh Wonder  
> ~~  
> Fic is mostly written in the style of blog posts. Days since the Fall are in the chapter title.  
> ~~
> 
> "So runs my dream, but what am I?  
> An infant crying in the night  
> An infant crying for the light  
> And with no language but a cry"  
> ~ Canto 54, "In Memoriam A.H.H."  
> by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ella says that I have to voice my feelings. Speak what I’m thinking and feeling and that somehow that will make me feel better. That will fix this whole mess and solve all of my problems, all of my grief. Sometimes I wonder if that ever works for anyone. Maybe you have to want it to work for it to succeed. It’s not that I don’t want to get better, I do, but I can’t. Getting better would mean forgetting him and I can’t do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - comments, questions, and critiques are always welcome.


	2. Day 42

I see him everywhere. Glimpses of a dark coat around corners, dark curly hair on the underground. Sometimes I can hear his voice calling for me from the living room. A sharp “John!” that makes my chest constrict and my throat feel tight as I close my eyes and remind myself that it’s a memory. That it’s just the wind outside or one of Mrs. Hudson’s films downstairs. Sometimes, I stand in the doorway of the living room and just look into the room. And see the dust that’s accumulated on the furniture and the grey that has settled into the air. And his chair is sitting there, empty, with crumpled imprints of the last time he sat in it or stood in it. I can’t even remember. There’s an empty mug next to the bottom of his chair, it rests on the left side, just next to the metal chair leg. I can see the dark liquid congealing in the cup, half drunk. Mould has started to bob in the tea and attach itself to the white glass on the sides. I look at it and look and that’s all I can seem to be able to do. My feet won’t take me into that room anymore. I get as far as the door before I have to stop. I can’t. I won’t. I would rather let that room sink into the earth and become swallowed by dirt and gravel. Just like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - comments, questions, and critiques are always welcome.


	3. Day 43

We were only flatmates for a short time, but he was the best friend I’ve ever had. Honestly, he was. We connected on a level that I’ve never had with anyone. I could understand him from just looking at him and, of course, he could read me like a picture book. He was totally mad. But it all made sense to me. Maybe that makes me mad too.


	4. Day 60

Sometimes I hate him. Sometimes I think of him and it makes me so fucking angry that I can’t even breathe. Yesterday, I punched a wall and it shook the wall all the way down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. It left a little dent in the drywall and I felt worse. I feel worse now, when I see that, than I did before I hit it. I just wish there was something that would help. That would ease whatever the fuck this is inside my chest that just hurts so much.


	5. Day 84

There was a lad on the underground today that looked just like you from the back. He was wearing this dark coat with fur around the collar, something that was a bit too luxe for you, but it fit him alright. Once I saw his face, he was more of a ponce than you were. But I swear, with that hair he could have been your brother. Or maybe not. Mycroft’s hair is nothing like yours. Your twin, maybe. I miss you.


	6. Day 137

I couldn’t get out of bed for a while. Mrs. Hudson brought me food. It’s pathetic really. I don’t even want to go downstairs to use the loo. I’ve shut the door to the living room and the kitchen and your room. I really hate how the bathroom is connected to your room. I’ve barely even been in your room and I hate how it’s right there with that bloody sheer door. I knocked your conditioner over this morning in the shower and the lid popped off. The whole shower smelled of you and

These were supposed to be blog posts but I don’t think I can post these. They’re nonsense. I started a new blog, obviously, this one. I couldn’t post on the old one, it’s not mine anymore. And I can’t bring myself to take the posts off private. Ella thinks that I’m lying to her when I say that I’m writing, but I’m not showing her what I’m writing. It’s none of her business. It’s no one’s business.

Everything became his. I don’t know what’s my own anymore. I had to get a new laptop because my old one was in the living room. I don’t want to touch my phone because there are too many messages sent to unknown numbers that I know he sent. There are strange apps downloaded that I know he must have downloaded so he could use them. But Harry gave me that phone, I can’t just get rid of it. I don’t even know where it is, actually. Maybe I can just leave it wherever it is.


	7. Day 140

My phone was in my jacket pocket. It’s really cold today. The tube was a nightmare so I walked a bit from Ella’s office and felt like I was going to freeze to death. I should buy a scarf probably. You would have been perfectly dressed for today with that fucking coat and your scarf. Needed a hat, though, for this kind of weather. Do you wear hats? I can’t picture you in one. It would ruin the dramatic look, probably. Christ, you and drama. Always needed to be fucking dramatic. Life’s not always extremes.

Maybe it is.

It makes things easier to understand anyways.


	8. Day 177

I quit my job. I wasn’t really showing up anyways. I’m lucky they didn’t fire me. Lucky is a strong word.

What’s the point of any of this.


	9. Day 215

Mrs. Hudson tried to talk to me today about doing something with your things. I told her to fuck off.

Probably wasn’t the best thing for me to do. We’ve got to do something with your things. They’re just sitting there collecting dust and mould. You would love it honestly. But I don’t want anything to do with them.


	10. Day 234

Mycroft came by. He told Mrs. Hudson we’re keeping everything the same. Like a fucking museum in memoriam.

He told me I looked ill. Like he has any right to comment on how I look. It’s none of his business. He can fuck right off.

I wish he’d take your things away.


	11. Day 347

Came home today and Mrs. Hudson was listening to classical music. And I couldn't escape the noise. That Piazzolla thing came on and I wanted to throw the radio out the window. I almost threw myself out instead. Always hated that song. Glad you’re not here so I can’t listen to it anymore. Fucking glad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z97i424MvY0 - This is the song I had in mind. Invierno Porteño by Piazzolla from Cuatro Estaciones Porteñas, arranged by Desyatnikov. There are strong hints of Vivaldi throughout. It is supposed to be played with a string orchestra, but the solo violin part is haunting.


	12. Day 365

Greg stopped by today. He brought beer so we sat on the stairs and drank it. He wanted to go into the kitchen or the living room, I could tell. But we didn’t. It’s a memorial now, so no one can go in there.

I think he thought I forgot what day it was. Of course, I didn’t.


	13. Day 394

Mycroft was here again. He brought a doctor with him to check me out, nosy git. As if I don’t know how to take care of myself. Needs to mind his own fucking business. I know how to take care of myself, I’m a doctor, I have a license.


	14. Day 412

Can you just stop being dead for a minute I can’t breathe anymore can you just fucking stop it for just a minute please Jesus stop


	15. Day 457

Mrs. Hudson keeps coming up here and leaving food at the door. I don’t need her pity. I wasn’t the one who forgot to eat all the time.


	16. Day 540

Sometimes I think about leaving. About walking away. Being in this flat, I can still feel you everywhere. I tried to leave. I couldn’t even walk through the front door. I cried. Like a fucking child. Pathetic. You would hate what I am now.


	17. Day 560

Mycroft came by again. It’s been so long I hoped he’d forgotten about me. Brought more doctors. I don’t know what he wants from me. I want him to leave me alone. I’m fine.

He said I’m worrying Mrs. Hudson. I don’t mean to, but she doesn’t need to worry about me. I’m just her tenant. And that’s taken care of forever. You left me enough money to stay here forever. Which is great because I got fired weeks ago. Exactly what you’d always wanted. Me out of work for good this time maybe. I don’t know where I’d get money from if I tried. No one wants to hire me. I don’t blame them, I’m not a good doctor. I don’t know how to try to do this anymore.

I see Ella still. But not very often. I have an appointment with her next week. I don’t know if I’ll go. I've missed my last three. Would it even make a difference?


	18. Day 620

I wasn’t allowed technology in the hospital, which is the stupidest rule I’ve ever come across. It’s not as if I wanted to look up porn. I just wanted to write sometimes. But they thought it would be “better for my mental health to spend some time practicing being present” what a load of shit. What does that even mean, being present. You’re supposed to take time and notice the grass and the wind through the leaves and all of that shit, but what does it matter. It all looks grey to me anyways. It’s blurry and boring and so fucking lonely. They finally let me come home but there’s a nurse who stops in once a day to make sure I’m taking these pills and that I haven’t killed myself.

It’s not like I really tried. Just wanted a little taste of it. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t supposed to come back from her sister’s until the next day. It was just bad timing. You would know a thing or to about that, wouldn’t you. Although your timing was probably perfectly on schedule.


	19. Day 624

Sometimes, I think about what I could have said to you. Things that might have made a difference. Would you have left if I told you that you were the only friend I had? I said horrible things to you that day, horrible horrible things. But I didn’t believe them, not really. You know I didn’t. I say things when I get angry, it’s how I deal with it. It’s how I push away the nerves. And you were being so cruel that day. So unlike you. I should have tried harder. I should have been nicer. I wish you had told me you were struggling. I would have been there for you.

I know I’m not much, but everything I am would have been there for you. Whatever you needed, I would have given it to you as best as I could.

I wish you’d given me that chance.

In reality, you knew what I had to give and you just didn’t want it. I don’t have much and it’s not impressive. I’m not smart or kind or anything that you could have wanted. I want to be, though. I want to be something that you wanted. I want to have been enough so much that it eats away at my insides.

You would hate me now.

Did you hate me then?


	20. Day 638

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to a very very dear friend who brainstormed with me about this section of the story. Love you xx

My nurse’s name is Mark.

Which is such a horrible name. Worse than John, even, in it’s blandness.

Mark. It’s also a verb. Which is, somewhat ironic to be honest. Mark leaves a mark.

He doesn’t really though. He hasn’t touched me. He just… likes to watch me. He’s always watching me. Watching me take all of my meds every day, watching me drink the water he gives me, watching me chew and swallow the food he spoon feeds me even though I can do it my bloody self, watching me after he insists I wash and change my clothes every day. He says it’ll improve my mood and encourage a fresh mindset or some bullshit. I don’t quite believe him about that though.

I don’t understand why he would want anything to do with me like that. Any looks I used to have I’ve lost in the last two years. And it’s not as if I had much to begin with.

I’m not unused to changing in front of other people. I’ve done it before in the army. There was no privacy there. I also had to do it in the hospital when I was on watch. It feels different though when it’s just him and me in the bathroom. The space is too small for complete professionalism. That doesn’t seem to stop him from watching. Do you think he does this with a lot of his clients?

He reminds me of you, a bit. With the way he watches, like he’s not missing any details. Though I never felt like this when you would look at me.


	21. Day 641

Mrs. H asked if I was alright. I don’t really know what to tell her. Do I tell her that I feel crushingly empty and think about you all the time? I can’t help but think of you all the time. I would give literally anything for you to be here again. I think she noticed the way Mark looks at me. That’s what she was talking about. I think she thinks that I’m moving on from you. That I’m somehow encouraging this. I just want him to stop. Did you ever feel this way? When people looked at you like they wanted to fuck you? I mean, I saw it on people’s faces. When you weren’t being a prick, you could be damn well charming when you wanted. Is that why you thought of your body as transport? To somehow distance it. I haven’t mastered that. Clearly.


	22. Day 645

I don’t know what to do about it at this point. I told him to stop it and he laughed in my face and said he didn’t know what I was talking about. I told him that I’d report him for indecent behavior, and he said he’d like to see me try. That no one would believe me. That no one would listen to me. I really wish I could remember where I hid my phone. But he's probably right anyways. Who would listen to me


	23. Day 648

He’s gone. I don’t know how Mycroft found out, but he did and he’s gone. Mycroft came up to my room today. He told me he would never come back and he was being taken care of. I hope he got his nursing license revoked. I said that and Mycroft smiled so maybe he did. Fucking glad, he shouldn’t be around people who can’t help themselves. 

My new nurse is a she.

Her name is Mary.

Fucking M names.


	24. Day 674

I went downstairs today and sat in Mrs. Hudson’s sitting room for a while. We watched a film. I can tell she’s worried about me. But I’m doing better. I am.


	25. Day 689

You’re dead so I can say this. No one will ever read this, it will never matter. You’re dead now so it doesn’t matter.

I loved you. I think I was falling in love with you. I think I fell in love with you. I would have done anything you wanted. Sometimes I think about what we could have been like. Maybe, if we had been together, you wouldn’t have killed yourself.


	26. Day 690

Fuck you. 


	27. Day 713

Why won’t they just leave me alone.


	28. Day 730

I don’t know why I can’t let go of you. I keep trying, I swear I do. I’m trying to move on now and do better and be better and I can’t. I can’t leave this flat, I can barely leave this room. Because as soon as I take a step out of the door, you’re there. Your presence is still so strong I can’t breathe. And I can’t leave this flat because where would I go? I don’t have a job anymore, no one will hire me. I have a fucking nurse because no one trusts me. And she’s so cloyingly pityingly nice. And I can’t lose you. What I have left of you. This memorial to you it’s all I have.


	29. Day 731

There were cleaners downstairs in the flat. Mycroft came by to oversee it. I guess the memorial to you was too dingy for Mycroft’s standards. He was tired of it degenerating. I sat in the stairs from my room and watched them come in and out. I hadn’t looked at the sitting room since I closed the doors so long ago. I forgot how much light comes into that room. There was this one afternoon where you were sitting in your chair and the sun was shining through the window in a perfect rectangle across your chair and you had your head tilted back and your eyes closed and you were just basking in the sunlight for a moment. I wanted to fall at your feet and press kisses to your hands resting next to you, to your feet propped up on the cushion, to your knees pulled tightly to your chest. I wanted to run my hands through your curls and press my lips to your forehead, to your eyelids, to the curve of your nose.

They threw out the cup of tea.


	30. Day 750

Is this what the rest of my life is going to look like? I don’t want to live like this.


	31. Day 779

I went into the kitchen today. Tried to walk to the counter to turn on the kettle. I haven’t made a cup of tea in…. I don’t know how long. But I only made it as far as the kitchen table. That’s pretty far though. It’s not bad.


	32. Day 784

Mrs. Hudson and I went on a walk around the block today. Would you be proud of the progress I’m making? Would you care?


	33. Day 793

Last day with Mary. They’ve deemed me responsible enough to take my own medications now. Mrs. Hudson’s going to check in on me once a day. My meds are sitting on the kitchen table. Mrs. H moved the kettle and a mug and some tea bags there so I don’t have to go all the way into the kitchen. Made myself some tea. There wasn’t any milk, but I made it all on my own.


	34. Day 812

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end, dear readers! I can see the final chapter in my master copy.

I can make simple meals for myself now. Lots of sandwiches. They let me use the toaster now, so I have toast some mornings. Mrs. Hudson and I went for another walk. Sometimes, I think that maybe things really can get better.


	35. Day 824

Did you know I loved you? Before you left? You saw everything about me, surely you knew. Was it so unwanted that you couldn’t bear to live anymore? I wanted so badly to be enough. Sometimes, I’m afraid that Mrs. Hudson will leave me too. I don’t know if she was the one who told Mycroft about Mark. Maybe that connection was good for me. Maybe it was. Did he love me? Have I forgotten what a relationship looks like? Maybe I didn’t understand what it was we were doing. Maybe I was still so caught up with you in my mind that I missed something he said. You ruined me for anyone else.


	36. Day 827

Went with Mrs. H to Tesco. It was very overwhelming but making good steps forward.


	37. Day 839

I think I’m going to be okay.


	38. Day 845

Going to have Mrs. H for tea today. I told her I’d make it. We bought biscuits for it and she’s bringing sandwiches. It’ll be the first time we’ve sat together up here. We’re staying in the kitchen, but still it’s a step forward. I thih’x joihkju,hvgmcnfbxdzx

Footsteps rushed around the table towards his chair. Strong arms pulled John up from where he had collapsed onto his computer and a hand gently supported his head, resting against his cheek. “John?” A soft baritone spoke gently to him, shifting the man in his arms. “John?”

John’s eyelids fluttered, a pale white contrasting with the dark mottled purple shadows around his eyes. He groaned softly as he shifted in the embrace, his scraggly beard which covered sallow cheeks rubbing against the smooth skin of the hand pressed against his cheek. The hands gently rested John’s thin frame upright against the back of the kitchen chair as John opened his eyes and looked up into bright blue-green irises. The blood drained from his face and his eyes widened. “I’ve done it then…”

Sherlock’s eyebrows creased, “What?”

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s forearm, holding it tightly. “I told Mrs. Hudson I wouldn’t… We were supposed to have tea today. But I guess I did it anyways.”

Sherlock looked befuddled, “What are you talking about, John?”

John looked up at him and smiled softly, lines crinkling around his eyes as he relaxed into the smile. “If I’d known you were here, I’d have done it so much sooner. I missed you so much.”

Sherlock looked down at him gently and a small smile pulled up his lips. “I missed you as well, John.”

John looked closed his eyes, pulling Sherlock close to his side and rested his head against Sherlock’s arm. “Death is kinder than I thought it would be.”

Sherlock stiffened. “What?”

John looked up at him, reassuringly, “It’s alright. I don’t mind. Does time pass differently here? You look different, so it must.”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and looked down at him. “John, we’re not dead.”

“Of course we are. You’re here. I must have killed myself.”

Sherlock’s eyes flared. “Don’t speak like that. We’re not dead, John. You’re not dead. We are both very much alive.”

John’s face shuttered. “That. That’s impossible. You’re dead.”

“Rumours of my death were exaggerated. Quite a bit.” Sherlock mumbled.

John grabbed onto his arm tightly and stood abruptly, sending the kitchen chair rattling to the floor. “The fuck what _rumours_. I fucking saw it!”

Sherlock shifted in John’s grasp. “Not exactly. You saw what I wanted you to see. I had to make you believe I was dead. It was to save your life, Jo-” His sentence was cut off by a fist connecting abruptly with the front of his face, sending him crashing backwards into the counter and slumping to the floor, eyes wide in shock. Blood trickled from his nose and he held up the tips of his finger to it in surprise.

John stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at Sherlock with a mix of anger and terror battling on his face, holding his hand close to his chest and cradling his bruised knuckles, his hands shaking violently. “Mrs. Hudson!” He cleared his throat and raised his voice, “Mrs. Hudson!!”

Sherlock reached out a hand towards him and John ignored him, stumbling towards the stairs. He leaned against the doorframe and nearly collapsed onto Mrs. Hudson when she arrived, cheeks flushed from rushing. “What on earth- John, what’s wrong? Do we need to call Mycroft?” She moved forward to support him and brought a hand up to cup his cheek.

John shook his head and waved his hand in Sherlock’s direction. Mrs. Hudson turned her head and screamed.

Sherlock flinched and waved his hand in a weak wave. “Not dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Thank you so much to all of you who followed this story every day. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for all the love for John and all the support! I'm currently working on the next segment in this story, so stay tuned!  
> <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - comments, questions, and critiques are always welcome.


End file.
